


See the sun blotted out from the sky

by amako



Category: Naruto, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Elvish, F/M, Family Feels, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, I see you all thinking I'm crazy for making the shinobi bastardised elves, The Valar, Time Travel, Trans Character, and shinobi all descend from the elves, basically the grey havens are the shinobi nations, bear with me, but are you really going to argue that being descendants of fuckface Kaguya is better?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-04-17 08:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14184531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amako/pseuds/amako
Summary: Lady Sakura of a Foreign Land. What a fitting addition to their Fellowship.





	1. Boromir's saviour

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most self-indulging thing I've ever written. Sakura is about 35 in this. Also you can pry the Gimli/Sakura friendship out of my cold, dead hands.
> 
> Title is from Paint it black by Ciara. This whole story was heavily inspired by When In Middle-Earth, both versions, by It's-Kraggie on ff.net though I decided to make changes to the story, whereas they mostly stuck to the original plot.

The sound of battle is deafening. It's so far from anything they're used to, any kind of noise they might have heard in the Shire. Merry has to watch as the Uruk close on them, as Boromir takes out his sword and fights for their lives because that's what he's supposed to do, without questions. He feels it happen before seeing it. The way the arrow flies. He's gasping half a second before the dart hits Boromir in the chest.

Half a second before the dart should have hit Boromir.

Because suddenly, there is gloved hand wrapped around the wood and a snarling figure not wasting a second before attacking the beasts surrounding them. It's moving too fast for them to see it, and Boromir is already turning around to face another enemy, taking his horn to his mouth and blowing as hard as he can.

The Orcs don't stand a chance against whoever started aiding them. The horn is blowing again and again, and Merry is tugging Pippin away. They will only get in the way. Once more does Boromir blow into the horn before they hear the familiar voice of Aragorn crying out. The man appears from behind the trees, sword drawn, Legolas and Gimli following just a step behind.

They make quick work of the remaining Orcs, their skill in battle undeniable, but Merry only has eyes for the darting figure finishing off an ugly Uruk. He has seen wizards and ghosts of old, fallen kings attacking in the dark, but never before something appear out of thin air like it did. Its grace is elven-like, quick and agile, but it's stronger than any of the men in the Fellowship.

Aragorn plunges his sword in the chest of the last Orc, and silence falls on the forest. Boromir is breathing heavily, a few cuts bleeding freely on the cloth of his tunic. Legolas looks like he just stepped out of the bath, just like he always does, but Gimli is muttering something where he's cleaning his large axe.

Pippin gasps and Merry finally takes a good look at their unexpected ally. It's tall, as tall as Legolas, and thin, with broad shoulders and strong arms. Then he notices the clothing and large expenses of skin left uncovered and he blushes crimson. That's a woman! A tall, brutal, deadly one, but a woman nonetheless.

He dares to look again, and really, he's never seen a woman quite like this one. She's not wearing anything besides... whatever this thing is, like a tunic but stopping a hand before the belly button, and flattening the chest almost completely. She has pants, like those Aragorn wears underneath his leather, and whitish cloth wrapped around her calves coming out of short leather boots. It's entirely improper, is what it is.

She looks definitely unbothered, though, as she stands under their gaze, hands on her hips and chin held high. If it were a Shire lady, she would already be red as a tomato and hiding behind a tree. She scratches her cheek before unwrapping the dark cloth hiding her hair and using it to wipe her face. Merry lets out a surprised cry. Her hair! It's like a rose in spring, a shade of pale red he's not sure he's ever seen before.

She ties the cloth around her arm when she's done cleaning herself and haranguing them in a language Merry doesn't understand. It would almost be funny, how neither of the men can quite meet her eyes because of how she's dressed, but obviously dying with curiosity at the same time.

 

“My Lady, I'm grateful for your help,” Boromir starts, uncomfortable, “but I'm afraid we can't understand you.”

“It's not any form of elvish I'm familiar with,” Legolas says softly.

“Nothing I can recognize either,” Gimli adds.

“My Lady?”

 

The woman is looking at them warily. She has stopped speaking, but her relaxed position has changed into a loose guard, hands reaching for a weapon pouch strapped to her thigh. Aragorn puts his sword on the ground and shows his hands, before coming closer to the woman.

 

“We mean no harm, my Lady.”

 

She eyes him with a frown, her hand not quite in the leather pouch, but not moving either way. The Ranger lays a palm on his chest, and says his name. Her back straightens again, and he repeats his name. She imitates his gesture and says something, too quick for them to catch it. The confusion must be obvious, because she says it again, and it sounds something like 'Sakla'. Aragorn repeats the strange name, and she offers a cautious but amused smile.

It seems to be too much for Boromir, who definitely stops looking her way as he offers her his cloak. She looks at it like it personally offended her and doesn't take it. She turns back to Aragorn, who mimes putting it on and she rolls her eyes. Merry can't help it; he giggles.

Immediately, her eyes are on him. She seems bewildered at what she's faced with. Merry is the one to roll his eyes and he can hear Pippin sighing at his side. They're getting used to the stares, now that they're miles away from the Shire. It's not like she has room to talk. She's clearly not from the race of Men, but she doesn't look like an Elf either, and she has nothing in common with Gimli.

Not really knowing what to do when she won't stop staring, Merry rummages inside his bag before offering her some lambas. Fighting always makes the men hungry, even if Aragorn hides it better than the others. He even takes a bite of it, because she seems like the kind who won't trust a meal when offered (how silly; here is nothing more insulting than disrespecting a meal).

It doesn't take much more prompting before she's biting into the elvish bread with fervour, devouring it in seconds. She bows her head in his direction, which seems like a clear enough thank you that he doesn't feel awkward in smiling back. She then drapes the cloak over her shoulders and stares with one eyebrow raised as the men relax and face her completely.

She points at herself and repeats her name, before waving at them in a questioning manner. One by one, they say their name, but she blinks owlishly at most of them, making them repeat until she gets a general understanding of how it's pronounced. It's very obviously not sounds she's used to make. She seems to like his name though, probably because it doesn't have many syllables, and Gimli's is the most troublesome for her.

 

“What will we do with her?” Legolas asks when they're done introducing themselves.

“We can't leave her alone!” Boromir says with a frown.

“She did prove she can fend for herself, did she not?” Aragorn says, even if he doesn't look very convinced either.

“She's clearly not from around here, she doesn't even understand the common tongue! We can't possibly abandon her to her fate.”

“Aragorn, the lass practically saved Boromir. We owe her some assistance,” Gimli finally says.

“What do you suggest, then? Shall we take her to Rivendell?”

“Uh, what about Sam and Frodo?” Pippin says in a small voice.

Aragorn looks down. “They're gone. They took a boat and left just before we came.

 

Merry fights the tears he can feel gathering in his eyes. He knows there's nothing he can do about it, but he still wishes they hadn't separated and that he could have gone with them. Two Hobbits against Mordor? Not a bet he'd take. Pippin kicks a stone, looking sour. Merry can get behind the feeling.

The woman says something and they all turn to look at her. She's frowning, her arms open like she's showing everything around her. It's clear enough what she's asking, but they have no means to answer her. Aragorn puts on a brave face and tells her that this is Middle Earth. Of course, she doesn't understand. She lets out a frustrated cry and punches a nearby tree. The trunk shatters on impact and the whole thing falls to the ground with a thundering sound.

The men are frozen, looking at her like she just punched them in the face, instead of the tree. Merry is taking a careful step back, tugging Pippin along. His cousin's face is ashen grey and he'd bet his isn't much better. Aragorn extends his arms, his hands placating. Sakla snarls something at him, her fists back on her hips.

 

“My Lady, we know this must be confusing. We're going to take you to people who might be able to help.”

 

Even if the meaning doesn't get to her, she seems to understands their good intentions. She nods briskly, and when Aragorn waves at her to follow him, she does. Boromir and Legolas falls in step with Aragorn, while Gimli flanks Merry and Pippin. The camp isn't far but no one feels like talking, so they stay silent.

When they're all sitting, Boromir offers a bowl of broth to the woman, who takes to it just as happily as she did the lambas. Aragorn lets her finish it, before speaking to them.

 

“I don't see any better way to teach her, so we'll simply point at things and name them. Hopefully she'll pick up soon and we'll be able to communicate a little.”

“That seems sensible,” Legolas agrees. “It's the way we teach our youth the common tongue. Of course we have books to help, but the basics are the same.”

Aragorn nods. “Sakla?” he calls.

 

She jerks up, looking at them warily. She finishes the broth quickly before putting down the bowl and watching them expectantly. The Ranger points at the bowl and says the word. She blinks a couple of times, before a soft sound escapes her and she appears to understand what they want to do. She repeats the word, then Aragorn points at a tree and do it all over again.

They all participate, miming actions and pointing at things. It goes on for quite some time, because the sun is setting when Sakla gestures for them to stop and massages her head. Boromir looks slightly guilty when they realize how tiring that must have been for her. She waves him off and lies on her back, sighing deeply. They all find something to do that doesn't involve crowding her and small groups form.

Merry and Pippin start a game of tag, running around and laughing, until Aragorn frowns at them and they put some more space between them and the resting woman. Gimli is trying to teach a dwarven game to Boromir, to no avail because half of the pieces have Khuzdul names that the man can't even pronounce and Gimli is getting more frustrated by the minute.

Aragorn is having a quiet conversation with Legolas near the campfire. They're speaking the common tongue, but keep circling back to elvish whenever their voice raise, as if it's their only way of keeping calm. From what the Fellowship knows of the language, it would make sense. They all try not to listen in too much though, but they're being successful in varying degrees.

Legolas says something and Aragorn pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed in a painful expression. Merry stops running, watching them with curiosity, until Pippin barrels into him, having not noticed that he had stopped. He cries in surprise, stumbling clumsily and taking his cousin with him.

In a split second, there is a rush of leaves and Sakla is standing there, each hand fisted in the Hobbits' cape. They freeze, before coming to terms with the fact that she apparently teleported just to stop them from falling. She lets them down gently before frowning and articulating 'No!' with a disapproving expression. There is sharpness to the way her voice curls around the consonant but it's understandable and they look at the ground sheepishly.

She shakes her head with an exasperated sigh before walking back to the fire. They all stopped to watch the scene unfold and it seems to have halted any attempts they might have made at pretending like her presence isn't completely alien to them. She sits down, her knees up to her chest and arms wrapped around her shins. Aragorn can't help but think that she looks terribly lonely, eyes lost somewhere they have no hope to follow her. It reminds him of what he used to feel, before finding a purpose in this Fellowship.

 

“Oy, lass! Quit frowning like someone mined your lode.”

 

Sakla looks up at the voice. Gimli is smiling behind his beard. He throws her something, too fast for the others -expect, perhaps, Legolas- to see what it is. She catches it without flinching, before looking at it. Then, a startled laugh surprises them all as she takes a look at the dice Gimli just offered her.

She starts playing with it absent-mindedly, mumbling the first few numbers they taught her. Gimli sits back next to Boromir, a smug grin taunting the rest of the men. Boromir rolls his eyes and gets up, taking his cutlass with him.

 

“Aragorn! Shall we hunt dinner?”

“Why not, my friend,” he says as he rises as well. Legolas offers him a dagger, glinting in the warm sun.

 

The light catches Sakla's eyes and she abandons the dice to look at them. Her head is tilted to the side as she seems to ponder over something. Then she says something in her language and lets out an excited chuckle.

 

“You, hungry?”

Boromir nods fondly. “Yes, we are hungry.”

“Yes, yes!”

 

She jumps on her feet and points to the ground, as if telling them to wait. Then she turns around and runs off in the direction of the river. Of course, they don't even think about waiting and follow after her. She's much faster than any of them and she looses them quickly. A few minutes later, when they finally get to the shore, she's nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, Merry shouts in surprise and they turn to the face the current, where he's pointing.

There she is, _walking on water_ , sending what looks like long needles into the swirls of the river. She's pulling them back seemingly with nothing, though she must have some sort of string that they can't see from here. On each needle, a fish is impaled, still fretting desperately. She turns around to look at them, laughing at their bewildered faces, and runs toward them. _On the water._

Aragorn is still shaking his head like he can't quite believe what he's seeing when she gets to the shore and hands them the fish.

 

“Food! Hungry!” Sakla says with a mocking smile, clearly making fun of their lack of response.

“Hungry, indeed,” Legolas smirks, clasping Boromir's shoulder where he's still blinking rapidly at the smiling woman.

“Thank you, Sakla,” Aragorn says.

“Saku-ra,” she articulates, the strange sounds somewhat clearer.

“Sakura,” he repeats. “Lady Sakura.”

 

She beams at him and he returns it. Lady Sakura of a Foreign Land. What a fitting addition to their Fellowship.

 


	2. Riddermark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's not talk about the hiatus, yeah? instead, enjoy that chapter prompted by my sister and I doing a LOTR long-cut marathon in one day. 12 hours straight of amazing middle earth content will do that to an author's inspiration. maybe stop at the bottom to tell me how you liked it?

They leave at dawn. At first, Aragorn is slightly worried about how well Sakura will take to the early hour and the long way ahead of them. He should have known better, after she proved herself in battle, but he has a hard time seeing past her pink hair and slim body. Pippin, displaying a surprising amount of skill, had sewn the cape into a rough tunic but it barely hides her skin and won't help her against a weapon. Her broad shoulders and muscled arms, bulkier than even Boromir's, might just do instead.

Neither the early rising nor the cold air seem to bother her, however, and Aragorn soon finds out he has more to worry about in the ways of complaints from the Hobbits than from their strange companion. She's the quiet type, or maybe it's because they haven't found a reliable way to communicate yet.

In any case, she doesn't talk much, keeps to herself in a way Aragorn can relate to. It speaks of long hours spent travelling, when all you can think of is the place you ought to be, with no consideration for the time it takes you to get there. In a way, he's finding he's almost enjoying the travels, since they left the Council behind and started their mad quest.

This is a journey he makes not out of duty, but commitment, and he finds himself contented that he's able to make the difference. Aragorn wants to see Frodo succeed, he wants to see Sam go back home to his garden and his fireplace. Above all, he wishes for peace, the kind you only find when your sole company is wildlife and the music you hear is the singing of the birds.

That kind of peace won't exist if the Ring is lost, or if Sauron wins that blighted war he's already so close to winning. Another pair of fighting arms, even if they come from a pink-haired, half-naked woman, are more than welcome.

Aragorn watches with amusement and a small dose of fondness as Pippin attaches himself to the lady's side, speaking to her in slow Common while pointing at things with an excited finger. She indulges him at first, but he sees when her faint interest morphs into actual concentration when he explains more complex concepts or useful words.

She's repeating things back to him, strong accent and strange accentuations on words that don't need it, but she's improving. He has no doubt she'll be an adequate speaker in no time. He pays attention himself when she begins speaking her own tongue, offering her words in exchange for Merry's when he shows interest in the way she says things.

Soon, the Hobbits are conversing with the few words they remember, attempting something like sentences that leave the woman biting back snickers. Aragorn himself is mouthing the words he finds of importance, the few that might actually be used in combat or to communicate when they don't want anyone else to understand them.

 

 

At noon, they stop on top of a sunny hill, a welcome warmth brushing against their skin from a sun they have seen too little of recently. They share evenly some lambas, a few dried pieces of salted meat and a slice of hard cheese the Hobbits unearth from their backpacks.

Boromir shows interest in what Sakura can now say, especially the few abstract notions Merry managed to explain her. She seems to understand a lot more than she can speak, so Boromir tells her of Middle Earth, of the races of Men, Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits. She listens with rapt attention, no matter that she might not understand everything.

 

“What is your land like, my Lady? Do you also have races? Does yours have a name?”

 

Aragorn approves silently of the many questions, knowing what she'll be able to pick from it will be easier to reply to than a single enquiry. Legolas and Gimli give the conversation their full attention, probably wondering if there is anything close to the rivalry their races have in her world.

Sakura makes a face, her brows painted with confusion, but she still make a valiant attempt at answering Boromir. She points at herself, then at the ground.

 

“My land?” she says. Then, her hands joining above her head, miming a roof, Aragorn guesses.

 

“Home,” he says, quietly. Home. What a strange thing, one he hasn't known for a long time. Was the time spent amongst the elves home-like? He does not know if that is worthy of longing, but sometimes, he wonders...

“My home land,” she tries, and Boromir nods; Aragorn does as well, pleased that she could make up the word by stitching ideas together. She truly is a bright mind.

 

Sakura smiles, warm and proud, the glint of laughter in her eyes. It is truly impressive, how she manages to show kindness and remains pleasant to them all when she is all but lost, far away from home and in a truly desperate situation. Aragorn hopes they will be able to send her back to where she came from. Such a loving soul should not have to suffer Middle Earth during those dark times.

 

“My home land, Fire,” she goes on, pointing at the flames they're all sitting close to.

Boromir raises his eyebrows. “Did it burn? The trees? Burning?”

She shakes her head. “Me, Sakura. Land, Fire.”

“Oh, it's the name of her kingdom,” Legolas says, quiet wonder at having understood something.

“Name, yes!” She smiles again. “Land of Fire. Konoha,” she says, the word foreign and quick. “Konoha, home in trees. No.” She frowns, before getting up. She takes a step and grabs a leave, pointing at it until Legolas tells her their word for it, smiling because of his own name. “Konoha, home in leave,” Sakura says with a fond smile.

“Your town is Konoha, in the Land of Fire?” Boromir asks. Her delighted laugh is answer enough and they all share a happy look. It's such a small thing, but it feels quite the victory.

 

Sakura comes to sit back down next to them, before pointing to both Merry and Pippin. Then she brings her arms close to her chest and mimes rocking a baby. Merry flushes crimson, understanding well enough what she's trying to say.

 

“Child,” Aragorn says, copying her gesture. “No, Merry and Pippin aren't children. One child, two children,” he says, counting on his fingers to show her.

“Oh. Okay. Me, children,” she smiles.

“You have children?” Boromir asks, eyebrows raised. Who in their right mind would let a woman go to war if she has children to take care of? What if something happened to her? Faramir and him grew up without their mother, and it is the one grief he cannot get over.

“Yes! Three,” she shows with her fingers as well. Sakura raises her hand just above the ground. “Aishi”, then she raises it a bit more and adds “Takumi.”. After raising it a third time, about the height of a Hobbit, she finishes: “Yozora.”

 

Her smile is fond, if a bit sad. Aragorn can only imagine how confusing, terrifying, it must be to open your eyes in a strange land, where nothing is familiar, from the landscape to the races. Not a familiar, if friendly, face in sight, and the poor luck of the company of men on a dire quest.

An unspoken agreement passes between the members of the fellowship. Silently, they leave her alone with the sorrow they can't help soothe, each going to take care of menial tasks that have the benefit of giving her some privacy. Boromir is teaching Merry and Pippin how to handle a shield in addition to the sword he took to training them with a couple of weeks into their journey. They're about to pack their rations and go to sleep, when they hear a war cry.

Aragorn jumps on his feet, absently noticing everything standing guard behind him. With a steadying breath, he tightens his grip on his sword. The two Hobbits are packing everything in backpacks. As soon as they're done, quick and efficient after many days of travel, Boromir takes one of the packs and Sakura puts on the second one. Once the packs are secured, Aragorn takes a step forward and they're all behind him, ready to face anything they might come across.

He leads them towards the screams and battle cries they can now all hear perfectly well. Aragorn isn't keen on throwing his group to the wolves if he can avoid it, but it might be as well that those people are in need of help and he doesn't think he's fooling himself in thinking the fellowship is made of particularly strong warriors.

For a few minutes, they're making quick work of a hill, reaching the top with barely hitching breaths. Once on top, Aragorn's blood doesn't waste a moment to start singing. He can almost taste Boromir's grin next to him as he grips his sword harder, almost excited. They exchange a look, but their hearts are nothing compared to the joyful yell Gimli gives as a sole warning before dawning on the battlefield like doom on the unlucky.

The Rohirrims are losing the battle. Aragorn can only tell who they are from their helmets, long horse hair dancing in the wind as they fight, because all their mounts are dead. The Uruks don't allow them to breathe even for a moment, and there are too many bodies on the ground with blond hair and dead blue eyes.

He doesn't wait much longer before charging after Gimli. Boromir is quick to follow, with a word to the Hobbits to stay put. Legolas stands besides them, his bow drawn and slaughtering Uruks from afar.

The Horse Lords notice them quick enough, and the unexpected help is all the vigour they needed to attack the ugly beasts with renewed fervour. Aragorn is focused on his fight, on the familiar push and pull of his blade, swift like the wind as it cuts through the enemy. He sees flashes of a flowing cape and pink hair, which he takes to assume means the Lady is using her forest magic to appear out of thin air where the Uruks expect her the least.

With skilled warriors, that aren't weary from a lengthy battle, and the help of a creature of magic and strength, the Uruks truly don't stand a chance. Aragorn is winded when his sword cuts down the last beast, and he can see a shallow wound bleeding freely from Gimli's forehead. Legolas hasn't left Merry and Pippin's side, which means he still has arrows. That's good. It's hard to make them in the wild, even if he has managed since then. The more he can save for later, the better.

He draws support from his sword for a moment while he recovers his breath, then grabs the few arrows he can see sticking from surrounding corpses. Legolas is making his way towards the centre of the battlefield, the Hobbits running after him with faces mixing fascination and horror.

The Rohirrims are standing close to each others, eyeing the Lady Sakura with a distrust coloured in reverence. He cannot blame them, but does find a measure of amusement from the situation. Once Boromir stands by his side again, he advances to meet with the people of Rohan. It isn't hard to single out their leader. He has the paleness of royalty and the adorned armour of the House of Théoden-King.

 

“Respects, great people of Riddermark. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Allow me to introduce my brothers-in-arms.”

 

His arm encompasses the fellowship, of which he is proud, no doubt in that. First, a name that should appease the Rohirrims, before the rest of them.

 

“This is Boromir, son of Denethor, Stewart of Gondor. Prince Legolas, heir of Thranduil-King of Greenwood. Gimli, son of Glóin.” Then, turning towards the Hobbits. “Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took of the Shire.” The Hobbits make a show of doing curtsy, which surprises a laugh out of Legolas. “And this is Lady Sakura of the Land of Fire, warrior of the town hidden in the leaves.”

 

He is uncomfortable, not knowing what are the proper ways to introduce her in public. Doing so the wrong way could greatly disadvantage her later, or give false impressions on her character he does not wish to be responsible for. He hopes the respect in his tone will compensate for any wrongdoing of his when Sakura speaks more of the Common Tongue.

But for now—

 

“Respects to you, Aragorn, and to your shield-brothers. I am Théodred, son of Théoden, King of Rohan.” Ah, as Aragorn suspected. “Our lives are yours, on this day. That battle would not have been won without the assistance of your company. The House of Eorl owes you a blood-debt.”

Boromir steps forward. “The debt is recognized but offered freely. I cannot take it in good conscience knowing you have indebted yourself to my kingdom by way of me. Accept that our warrior way demands we help you, so help you we did.”

 

Théodred inclines his head deeply, grateful with still the manners taught to him to make him a king _en devenir_.

 

“Then accept in return the hospitality of Edoras while my father receives the news of this battle and your help. That you cannot refuse.”

 

Aragorn does his best not to show the discomfort he feels squeezing his chest. His honour tells him they have no way of refusing the offer, not without causing great offence and incomprehension. But the decision cannot fall on his shoulders entirely. They were making their way to Rivendell, to send Sakura back to her world. The time they would loose going to Rohan and back...

 

“Did you understand what he asked, Lady Sakura?” Legolas asks softly. Her head is tilted, brows furrowed. Aragorn has to admire her for the honest effort she makes to understand what just transpired. Their words are those of men used to oaths and ceremony, full of double-speak and complicated concepts even to those who speak the language.

“Not go home?” she finally asks. Her apparent frustration means that she probably wants to say much more, and once again, unwarranted guilt makes Aragorn tense up.

“We can't go to Rivendell if we follow Lord Théodred to his home. Is that acceptable to you?”

 

Sakura looks at Legolas, long and hard, before nodding. Aragorn can only pray the gods she understands what is being put on the table.

 

“Is she a simpleton?” Théodred asks, genuine curiosity in his tone. Spirits, is he young, Aragorn muses. “I would have thought wizards were spirits of knowledge.”

“She is no simple of mind,” Boromir states, almost coldly. “Her land is far from here and the Common isn't known to her. She has been learning with us. She is a warrior of great skill, and a mage in her own rights.”

 

As if understanding his words, her hand lights up with green, and everyone takes a collective step back. Sakura doesn't seem to mind as she approaches Gimli and points the ground as if to say 'stay'. Then her hand brushes against his still-bleeding forehead and in one second, his wound is wiped off like mere grime, no blood to show what used to be on his skin.

 

“Of great skill, yes,” Théodred says, looking like he just walked into a tree. Aragorn smiles. “Follow— follow us, would you? I need to speak to the King.”

 


End file.
